Anniversary
by Nibbson
Summary: Hoagie makes preperations for his most important annual event.  2x5. Rated T to be safe.


**Anniversary**

Hoagie woke with a start, the light of day dissolving the images that had been fluttering behind his eyelids. Holding his head he stared out of his window, the birch tree just outside was a mess of bright green buds.

"That dream," he mumbled, "April already?"

He stood and stretched, giving a glance at the calendar. It glanced back, uninterested, proving his suspicions to be correct. The block following the latest cross had a red circle around it with 'Anniversary' scrawled inside in Abby's hand writing. He smiled. She had bought calendars for four years in advance after he forgot their first anniversary, having to special order the ones for 2010 and 2011, marking the date in each one.

April 1st.

The day he combined what little bravery and confidence he had and asked her out. She had laughed, thinking it was an April Fool's joke, something he refused to let her live down. But it worked out; the initial awkwardness developing into what they could only describe as love. He stared at the calendar for a long time, as if trying to convince himself of something. A loud bang from downstairs snapped him out of it.

"TOMMY GILLIGAN!" came his mother's screeching voice, "Why in the name of all things bright and beautiful are you sleeping on the porch?"

"The door was locked when I got home last night!" was a sleepy and hung-over response.

Hoagie couldn't help but let out a chuckle; at 16 his little bro was "getting more ass than a toilet seat" as Wally liked to put it. Snapping into action, he made for the shower and once done, quickly got dressed; t-shirt, jeans, sneakers and his trademark brown baseball cap. For the finale he carefully placed a pair of worn aviator goggles on the brim of his cap. He grabbed his keys, reached for his wallet and paused. It lay open, a, well, wallet-sized picture of him and Abby on their second anniversary. She was laughing and holding up a calendar, her eyes lopsided crescent moons of joy. Hoagie himself was grinning dumbly still trying to get over the embarrassment of, despite the calendars, still forgetting. He laughed to himself and scooped up the wallet placing it in his back pocket.

He never forgot again.

He hopped down the stairs humming an ominous tune to himself. He waltzed into the kitchen and brushed past his mom, whom he was almost two heads taller than now, and planted a kiss on her cheek.

"Mornin' ma," he said smiling "ain't it a beautiful Sunday?"

"Yes it is, that snow-in seems miles away on a day like this," she said.

Silence ensued as she sat at the kitchen table and watched her son make himself some toast.

"Can you believe it's April 1st already?" she asked, straining her voice in a test-the-water kind of way.

"Time flies huh?" Hoagie chuckled keeping his back to her.

"Isn't it your...um…" she tried to say, failing herself in finding words.

"Anniversary," he said turning and grinning, "four years already, can you believe it?"

"Time flies," Mrs Gilligan said smiling weakly.

Silence returned, interrupted by the occasional crunch of Hoagie's toast. Mrs Gilligan found herself staring at him again, and unsure what to do with herself, got up and began washing the only plate, from her own breakfast, that sat in the sink.

Hoagie finished up and placed his plate in the water his mother was using. He gave another kiss on the cheek, "I'm going out for the morning, got some errands to run."

"Okay," she smiled at him, "just try not to get home too late; you need to make a dent in the yard work, you've been promising to do it for weeks now."

"For you, anything," Hoagie said dramatically giving a bow.

Mrs Gilligan laughed as he left. Hoagie opened the front door to find his brother still sprawled on his back across the porch. He smelled of expired yeast and had several lipstick marks on his neck and face. Hoagie nudged him with a foot and Tommy grumbled like a sedated animal, sending a single arm swinging in slow-motion at him. Hoagie simply stepped back allowing the attempted attack to flop onto the wooden surface that had been Tommy's bed.

"You better get up soon," the elder brother said as he walked across the lawn to the driveway, "your smell is scaring the birds away from mom's new birdhouse.

The semi-conscious mass mumbled something that wasn't quite English and rolled onto it's side.

The majority of driveways on the Gilligan's street boasted the usual collection of station wagons, pickups and hatchbacks of any suburban neighbourhood. But 223 Willow Street possessed an anomaly; on this particular driveway a very lost looking dark blue 1976 Ford Mustang stood, gleaming in her well-kept glory. The pride and joy of 18 year old Hoagie Gilligan had been a gift to him on his 16th birthday. It was given by his 'funny' uncle Dennis as a complete wreck, as some kind of 'joke'. What his funny uncle hadn't counted on was Hoagie's gift with a blowtorch and spanner. The Mustang was good as new in a couple of weeks. Hoagie opened the door, ceremoniously running a hand along the smooth cab as he did, and climbed inside. The engine roared to life as Hoagie gave an extra rev in an attempt to stir his brother. When nothing on the porch moved he gave up and released the handbrake, allowing the vehicle to glide off the driveway. He hit the street and took off. Hoagie sat humming to himself until he remembered the radio. He switched it on and continued humming. He stopped at a traffic light and waited to pull into Main Street, scanning the small row of stores that lined its east side. It was quite, the good God-fearing people all being in church.

The Mustang pulled up alongside May's Flower Boutique, attracting a few raised eyebrows from the Café next door. He got out, locked the door and entered the small shop. He was immediately hit by the overwhelming smell of too many flowers in one place. May's Flower Boutique was certainly not a boutique, and he was certain May Lewinski and her husband Gerald knew what a boutique was, but it just sounded right, so the name stayed. He rounded a shelf straining to hold the swarm of tulips rested on it and almost tripped over the small old woman watering them.

"Mrs. Lewinski!" Hoagie yelped, stumbling over himself in an attempt to keep his balance. He failed. Moments later he found himself looking up at the round face of May herself. She was smiling at him, her eyes squinting behind the huge pair of spectacles that covered half her face.

"Hoagie?" she said, "that you? I can't tell, I'm wearing my reading glasses."

"Yes ma'am," Hoagie laughed as he pulled himself to his feet.

He helped her back to the counter. She took a seat on the small stool behind it and put on a different pair of glasses, equally as big, and smiled at him, making eye contact for the first time.

"Good Lord, you've gotten tall," she said, "and if you're this big I'd love to see where your brother is."

Hoagie raised a hand to below his chin as an indicator.

"Heavens," she muttered, "I've come to notice something Einstein didn't: as metabolism goes down, time speeds up!"

Hoagie laughed, "I'll take your word for it."

"So what can I do for you this morning?"

"A dozen White Roses, please," Hoagie smiled.

Her favourite.

May turned to look at the calendar that hung on the wall behind her.

"Of course," she said giving him a knowing smile.

She busied herself with gathering the flowers as Hoagie leant against the counter.

"What's it been?" the elderly woman called from the back room, "two-"

"Uh, uh, uh," Hoagie cut her off, "four years now."

She reappeared with a beautiful bouquet and smiled, "Of course, my mistake."

He paid and took them off the counter.

"Thanks" he said with a wave and started for the door.

"Thank you, dear," May called after him, "have a nice day now."

Hoagie left the shop just in time to see an elderly man climb out of a worn pickup.

"Morning Mr. Lewinski," he said with a smile.

The man looked up, slightly startled.

"Oh, morning to you too Hoagie," George said.

He stepped into the shop just as the Mustang roared away.

He looked over at his wife and sighed.

"April already?"

Father Patrick Rowland stood at the door to the St. Joseph Cathedral and smiled goodbye at those leaving. He had just finished the second morning service and was feeling rather weary. Leading his flock to the love of the lord was no simple task, but very worth it. He was a man who had had purpose for all his 54 years, and as he greyed with age he was content; he knew what lay after death.

As the crowd dispersed he noticed the dark blue vintage that stood at the bottom of the stairs. A tall and lanky teen leaned against it, grinning up at him cockily.

"Mr. Gilligan!" he called out in a thick Irish accent once they were alone, "I see it's officially spring."

"What do you mean by that?" Hoagie called back.

"Well seeing as you're standing at the foot of the stairs to my church," he grinned, "it must mean its anniversary time."

"Aw, Father, I'm hurt," Hoagie said making his way up the stairs, "How do you know that I'm not here to speak to our heavenly Father?"

He pointed upwards with one hand and held the other to his heart.

"Because if it wasn't for that girl forcing you to, I don't think you'd even come down this street."

As Hoagie reached the top of the stairs their eyes were locked and a silence alive with furious grins and seemingly telepathic challenges lingered for a brief moment.

Hoagie laughed and took the man's hand in a firm shake, "I guess you're right."

An hour later they re-emerged.

"Y'know we should do this more than once a year," Rowland sighed, "It's good for you."

Hoagie didn't answer but looked out over the small park across the street. A few kids were playing on the large jungle gym that towered as the playground's centrepiece. A few mothers were trying to get their kids off it, and when a reason was demanded, pointing up at the darkening sky. Dark clouds billowed overhead blocking the noon sun.

"Looks like rain," Rowland tried again, "Are you going to see her?"

"Of course," Hoagie chuckled, "she'd kill me if I didn't."

Rowland smiled at him, "Well Hoagie, God bless, and see if you can get to a Sunday service every once in a while, huh?"

"I'll try," Hoagie grinned and started down the stairs again.

Rowland chuckled as he turned to go inside, "No, you won't."

The church doors shut heavily as Hoagie climbed back into the car. Pulling away he glanced back at the park, it was empty.

All the way up Gregory Drive he was sure it was going to rain; the clouds were fumbling about, looking as if they could burst their banks at any minute. He pulled into the parking lot of the Jefferson Ave. Wallmart, and was sure that the clouds had been waiting for him to leave the car before they let loose. He gathered his things before opening the door and prepared to make a run for it, but to his surprise as he climbed out not a drop fell.

"Oh, I get it," he mumbled at them walking across the tarmac, "You're waiting for later."

The clouds grumbled in conformation and Hoagie laughed. He walked through the automatic sliding doors and frowned; he hated shopping with a passion, which was Abby's fault. During her pubescent years as she was discovering what it meant to be a girl, he was dragged many a times into any store she could find, being forced to look at _everything_ and then leave without buying a single thing. He smiled to himself at the memory and made his way into the jungle of isles, appearing a few minutes later at the other end of the store holding a red candle a small brass bowl and a bag of red rose petals. A single cashier manned a single checkout counter. She smiled at him sweetly as he approached. She was pretty, 16 maybe, and Hoagie was sure he'd seen her at school.

"Planning something?" she asked with an obviously flirtatious grin as she rang up the items, and then added with a pushing-my-luck tone, "Something I could join?"

"Anniversary," Hoagie smiled.

The girl laughed, "Just as I thought; all the cute senior guys in this town are taken."

"Not all of them, and I don't think someone with a pretty face like yours would have trouble catching one."

The girl giggled, "You are far more charming than your brother."

"Yet he's the one who manages to get the girls," Hoagie winked.

The young girl's giggles were cut off by the sliding doors. Hoagie looked up expectantly at the clouds, who glared defiantly back down at him. He mumbled something to himself about exacting revenge and made his way to his car. As he pulled back onto Main Road, the hard-strummed base opening of Bill Withers "Ain't No Sunshine" started to seep softly from the radio. Hoagie absent-mindedly whistled along, not really paying attention to anything. He pulled back into his home's driveway and gathered his things from the passenger seat. Deciding to not give the clouds the attention they were seeking, he simply ignored them as he made his way to the house. There was a rumble of thunder somewhere in the distance and Hoagie grinned triumphantly. He placed his shopping on the desk in his room and changed into a really old baseball shirt and a tatty pair of jeans. His hat and goggles remained. Then, without a word to anyone, got the gardening tools from the shed and began weeding the front flowerbed. He did so with a silence and obsession that Mrs. Gilligan was ashamed to admit scared her slightly as she watched from the porch.

The afternoon rolled on as Hoagie continued to work. The clouds had now completely blotted out the vibrant blue of the morning and hung heavily as ever overhead. The thunder had come and gone indicating that if it did rain, it would be as violent as everyone was expecting. Hoagie cut the lawnmower's engine. The little red machine sputtered and gave a final whine as it died. Hoagie wiped the sweat from his brow and sighed happily to himself, admiring the fruits of his labour. His mother appeared form inside.

"I thought you were going to see Abby today?" she called with a frown, "it's getting late."

"It's called being dramatic, ma," he grinned, "She now thinks I've forgotten."

Mrs. Gilligan shook her head with a smile, "Whatever Casanova, just get moving; I don't want you to get caught in this when it eventually gives way."

She rolled her eyes at the sky. Hoagie laughed and made his was inside. He planted another kiss on his mother's cheek as he walked past.

"Mother knows best," he grinned.

The mother in question didn't feel very motherly as she watched her son dart up the stairs. She had again seen the twinkle in his eye that frightened her so.

He was turning out to be so much like his father. Too much.

Hoagie showered again and threw on his best blue shirt and jeans. After putting back on his goggles and cap he inspected himself in the mirror. The mirror offered no flaws, but he checked again. Suddenly feeling like he was 16 again, and smiled at himself. He gathered his things and with a final glance around his room, made for downstairs. He mother was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Tommy, so he locked the front door on his way out. Coming out from under the porch he looked up at the sky again to see a dark menacing sea of grey, broiling and grumbling. A cold wind rustled the leaves of the surrounding trees. Hoagie smiled like he didn't care and made his way to his car, his cheerful whistling suddenly sounding very ominous in the heavy air. He climbed in, pulled away and headed in the opposite direction to where he had gone that morning. The radio crackled with static as lighting flashed overhead, and Hoagie turned it off. The houses on either side of him gently faded into forest. After a while a thick stone wall topped with wrought iron broke through the foliage to his right. Hoagie slowed reluctantly, as if it wasn't his intended destination. A large gate appeared in the wall, and Hoagie pulled in. He grabbed the white roses and Wallmart packet from his back seat and stepped out. He looked up once more; moments now. So with a quick pace he began up a cobblestone path, his eyes fixed on where his feet were stepping, a smile lingering on his face. Thunder cracked, and he heard her voice.

"Hoagie?"

His head shot up, about to answer. But all he saw was a granite tombstone. It was on its own, apart from the sea of others around it. He smiled again. His mind was cruel at times. He walked slowly up to the stone, running his hand along the top. It was smooth, clean, new. Lingering for a moment he began unpacking. He knelt at the base of the tombstone and placed the candle, lighting it. He then filled the bowl with the petals, placing it in front of the candle. He then gingerly picked up the roses and stared at them for a moment, the smile fading quickly from his face. He reached for his back pocket and pulled out a pocket knife, quicker than he expected, and carefully cut the flowers from their stalks. He then slowly lowered them into the bowl; white on red. And for a moment he saw it; the tangled car, the white shirt in the pool of crimson. He shook the image from his mind.

"Happy anniversary," he managed weakly.

There was a final rumble and flash, and the sky gave way. It poured. And Hoagie cried. He placed a hand on the face of the stone, and cried a year's worth of tears.

After a few hours the storm had passed, and he left. Smiling. Ready to smile for another year. But for the rest of the night, and well into the next morning, the candle flickered gently, illuminating the face of the tombstone and the text engraved into it;

_Here lies_

_ABBIGAIL LINCOLN_

_2__nd__ August 1993 – 1__st__ April 2009_

_Judge not the time of death, as it is the time God has chosen for you to join Him._

_Rest in peace._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Depressing maybe, but hey, when a story gets in yer head, y'know how it goes :D<strong>_

_**Review, if you'd be so kind**_

_**Nibbson  
><strong>_


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